


there is a story about the greek gods

by nantes (titians)



Series: memes with pretentious titles [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Cemetery Junction, Fashion Model RPF, Game of Thrones (TV), One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genderswap, Alternate Universe - Groundhog Day, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titians/pseuds/nantes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bunch of prompt fills from the Tumblr Tropes meme, including but not limited to secretly-a-virgin Nick Grimshaw, telepathic Lee Pace, female Mercutio handcuffed to female Tybalt, Mads Mikkelsen putting Louis Tomlinson to bed, and Greg James with a baby.</p><p>
  <em>You're welcome.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. secretly a virgin [nick grimshaw/louis tomlinson]

nick insists he’s only six shots ahead of everyone else because his spider leg fingers aren’t made for playing _jenga_ — “of course the tower is going to topple when i touch it,” he states, closing his eyes and hoping he’s pointing vaguely in gemma’s direction. “it’s not my fault.”

when it falls down again, nick refuses to take another one. by now his vision hurts and half his tongue is numb from the sambuca. “that’s a forfeit, forfeit,” zayn exclaims. “you have to do a forfeit.”

(sometimes being friends with boybanders is like being friends with a bunch of rowdy puppies; in his excitement for nick’s forfeit, zayn knees the table, sending the sambuca flying and all over the wooden jenga pieces harry and luke had been carefully reassembling.

“ _zayn_ ,” harry gruffs out, frowning.)

nick rolls his eyes, just for good measure, and asks, “alright. what’s the forfeit then?”

"a truth."

 _oh christ_ , they are actually children. all of them. nick needs to kick every one of them out of the house right now, leaving only the adults behind. (although gemma will probably go too. with zayn. but nick isn’t going to bring that up until it becomes a proper pattern.) he sighs, waiting for it.

with his finger pointed at him, his t-shirt falling away on one shoulder and exposing an obscene amount of tattooed collarbone, zayn leans into the space between nick’s knees and states, “you have to tell louis a secret.” catcalls go around the table, even from harry. ( _fucking traitor._ ) “a good one — one no one else here knows.”

the sambuca starts looking really good right now. even if nick is positive he will permanently lose vision in his left eye if he drinks any more. he groans to himself, zayn’s grin splitting his face in two, but nick hears himself agreeing, “fine.”

louis looks at him, waiting. when nick first moves towards him, he misjudges the angle — fucking drunk depth perception — and clatters the side of his hand off the line of louis’ cheek; he flinches but doesn’t move away. the second time goes better, nick cupping his hand around louis’ ear to shield his words away from the rest of the room. (he feels zayn’s fingers press into his thighs, his hand vibrating a little with excitement.)

nick pulls back from louis.

louis gawks at nick, mouth fallen open in his best dead fish impression.

_yep._


	2. accidental baby acquisition [zayn malik/rj king]

it’s not that rj is bad with kids. ok. maybe he is. but zayn- zayn is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and say he’s just nervous. babies are weird. they’re needy and small, incredibly easy to drop. they make the oddest noises at the worst times and sometimes it’s very difficult to keep all their limbs in one place at one time. (dressing them is somewhat akin to trying to stuff a disgruntled squid into a tennis bag.)

so, zayn handles it.

he feeds the baby, washes him, cleans him up when he sicks up all milky and gross down the back of zayn’s favourite artfully tattered denim jacket, bathes him again and puts him to bed. and he lets rj do nothing.

because whenever rj gets near the kid, he looks. so worried. like he’s just worked out everyone else on the planet could potentionally kill him. so, zayn lets it go.

it’s not until later. until the clock is glowing 3:16am in green across rj’s bedroom and his side of the bed is cold and zayn wakes up, realising it’s been hours and there hasn’t been a peep from the kid that zayn finds out rj isn’t that terrible with kids. getting up out of bed, he shrugs on the nearest sweater — it’s new york in november and rj has ceiling to floor glass walls on two sides of his apartment — and pads off to find where they’ve gone.

they’re in the living room. the gas fire off but the television on, the screen casting a blue glow about the place as some game show rerun plays on it. the baby has mostly gone back to sleep, head turned into the crook of rj’s arm as he gently wipes milk away from the corner of his little rosebud mouth. on the coffeetable is a nearly empty bottle. leaning his head against the doorframe, zayn feels himself smiling.


	3. curtain fic/domestic fic [brandon flowers/gemma arterton]

nevada in the summertime is- too hot. but brandon has this thing where he can’t sleep without a cover over him but sometimes even the sheet gets too much and he needs to roll over. onto the cold part of the mattress. just to cool off for a while. tonight, he has the sheet kicked off to his ankles and there, next to him, breathing hot and steady, nose buried in against his collarbone, is gemma.

it’s been almost an hour since he woke up. too sticky, desperate to get up and turn on the fan. but he’s in no hurry to move.

growing up in vegas, brandon thinks he should be used to the heat. but. still. it does funny things to him. like last night, when he dreamt about peeling away gemma’s clothes like the skin from a fruit before getting his mouth on her soft flesh underneath. or the night before that, when they’d come home late from drinks at ronnie’s and while she had made toast — “carbs. we need carbs,” and she had pointed dramatically in the direction of the kitchen, brandon swooping in and kissing her neck, pushing her along with his hips — brandon had gone and found the ukulele, serenading her with ridiculous covers of 80s upbeat pop songs. just to make a smile break across her face.

now, he leans in and kisses her hair. she breathes out against his chest, fingers pressing into his ribs lightly, like ‘yes dear, love you too’ in her sleep. and brandon smiles, settling his arm around her back and closing his eyes.


	4. handcuffed together [female!mercutio/female!tybalt]

"mercutio." she prods her again. " _mer-_ "

she hisses back, “i heard you the first time but i was choosing to ignore you.” tybalt makes a sound, elbowing mercutio in the ribs. “what do you want?”

"i have to pee." she rises off the bed without waiting for an answer, the small chain between them jangling as she moves. with a huff, mercutio follows, muttering something about ‘this is what my nightmares look like’. "you can always wait outside," tybalt tells her snipply.

barging through, mercutio informs her, “you won’t reach the toilet if i stay outside and there’s no way i’m letting you pee in my shower.” with a smile, she sits on the edge of the bath, crosses her left leg over her right and makes a dramatic display of turning her face away.

"i can’t believe you left your phone in your jacket pocket. and then gave it to _romeo_.”

mercutio fights the urge to fold her arms. although it would look great if she did it while glaring at tybalt, there is also the slight chance she could pull her off the toilet if she moves too quickly. it’s 4am. mercutio is handcuffed to tybalt. she does not need to clean the bathroom right now. “i leant her my jacket cos it was cold — it’s what friends do,” she states, words still biting despite the lack of angrily crossed arms in front of her chest. “something you would know if you actually had any.”

for the briefest of seconds, tybalt looks like she has been slapped. but she recentres herself quickly, quick enough for mercutio to pretend she didn’t see anything.

as she washes her hands in the sink, tybalt pulls mercutio’s in with hers. mercutio lets her, staying quiet. she’s already triumphed once in here and the quicker they get out of the bathroom, the quicker mercutio can get back into bed and go to sleep.

they lie back down side by side. with their hands the way they are, mercutio almost imagines they’re holding hands. almost. tybalt thumps at her pillow, sighing loudly as if it is the most bothersome thing in the world. “tomorrow morning,” she begins, mercutio giving her her full attention, “you’re making me breakfast and then you’re going to benvolio’s house and getting the key.”

"with you?"

even in the dark mercutio hears the roll of tybalt’s eyes in her voice. “where else am i going to go?”


	5. "be careful what you wish for" [female!mercutio/male!juliet]

romeo watches him standing next to paris, the pair of them both beautiful cheekbones and delicate wrists, artfully displayed as they hold their beers. condensation staining their fingerprints with wet. he’s wearing a sweater with bats on it, a woollen one like something romeo’s nan would have knit her as a child. romeo can’t help smiling at him, even as he stands there completely unaware she’s looking at him.

"who is he?"

pushing into her space, benvolio follows her friend’s eyeline. their shoulders butt together when she shrugs. “why don’t you go find out?” when romeo shoots her a look, benvolio rolls her eyes before nudging her with her elbow. “go on. go and talk to him.”

romeo insists, “but i don’t know him.”

"that’s the point, isn’t it?"

as if on cue, mercutio steps up behind her cousin, romeo catching her friend’s mouth around a ‘hello darling’ before she kisses paris’ cheek. (they look alike, definitely related, but romeo has always found paris more striking while mercutio is more genuinely pretty. to be honest, the entire family are sickeningly lovely to look at.) when mercutio pulls back, she eyes the guy; paris introduces them.

a smile settles on mercutio’s face, almost a smirk but perhaps a bit too coy to be called that. romeo scoffs, shaking her head fondly as mercutio shakes his hand.

_typical._


	6. telepathy [lee pace]

it starts the week after lee rides his bike up the ramp the two boys construct out of three bricks and a badly placed plank that topples under the weight of his wheels, causing lee to tumble over the front of his handlebars and smash his skull into the edge of the pavement. the monday after that. no. maybe the tuesday. _whatever._ the day doesn’t really matter — what matters is lee suddenly develops the ability to hear nick’s thoughts.

1\. lee really doesn’t need to hear nick’s thoughts. 2. _no one_ needs to hear nick’s thoughts.

even getting stuck with the ability to hear gemma’s thoughts would be easier than this cos at least she is sorta smart. at least, smart enough to tell lee, “you probably shouldn’t do that,” when he’s lining up to test the ramp but what 14 year old ever listens to their 10 year old sister?

at first lee assumes it has something to do with the fact they’re twins. that smashing his face into the ground has knocked some part of his brain that controls the ancient twin-connection quartex, some polydeuces and castor bullshit. which is kinda cool. but then it gets annoying. because suddenly, lee is never alone. there’s always nick, somewhere in the back of his head, like the static buzz of a bad satellite-to-television connection.

god, why couldn’t it have been gemma?

the day that lee looks over the table, suddenly hit by a random thought which makes him lift his head up from his cereal and look over at nick to release that, yes, nick has just had the same thought. and knows that lee has just had it too. well. that’s when things get really weird.


	7. bodyswap [rj king]

when rj’s alarm goes off, it’s 90 minutes later than he set it for. he only panics for 10 seconds before getting up and deciding to blame matt. things like this are generally matt’s fault, his stupid pranks he plays off with complete innocence cos he’s got the face for it.

stumbling out of bed, rj runs a hand through his hair. it feels taller. and thinner than usual but nothing the hair stylists can’t handle. with a sigh, he drops his hand and cracks his neck — turns his head one way with a _poppoppop_ and then the other, _poppoppop_. it hurts more than usual. ugh, fuck it. it’s fine. he has to go to a shoot. blearily reaching for his phone he puts his hand on-

nick’s phone.

nick’s phone. shit. that means he went home with nick last night. right. ok. rj is a grown up, he can handle this. he went home with nick, slept through his own alarm and woke up with nick’s. wait.

where is nick?

apparently not in the kitchen or the living room or even the garden, since rj is the best house guest ever and lets nick’s demented puppy outside for a pee while he’s there. she trots back inside and sits down on her bed, staring at him expectantly, which is. odd. since last time rj was here she hated him. he gives her a quick pet behind the ears and goes to shower — he doesn’t have time to fuck about.

it’s not until he has his shirt off, boxers pushed most of the way down his hips that rj catches sight of himself in the mirror. and. holy shit. he is nick grimshaw. he groans. this is the last fucking thing he needs.

and he’s definitely blaming matt for this.


	8. pretending to be married/fake dating [nick grimshaw/rj king]

"it’s a penis cake," harry informs them, broad grin on his face and his cheeks pink from the four pre-game drinks he had before he got here. "i felt it was apt." and he winks at rj. who does his best to return the smile without gagging at him. god. why is he here? harry keeps grinning and with a pat to the curve of nick’s elbow says, “happy birthday, mate.”

nick covers his hand over harry’s, squeezing his fingers around his as he smiles, breathing out a quiet ‘thanks’.

next to him, rj huffs. how much longer does he have to be here? nick said, “only a couple of hours. just so i don’t spend the night pretending not to stare at him when he brings his new girlfriend.” _only a couple of hours._ it feels like rj has been here a lifetime already.

politely (at least, he thinks it’s polite; nick will probably tell him otherwise in five minutes) rj excuses himself from the conversation and helps himself to a beer from nick’s fridge. what the fuck is he doing? pretending to be nick’s boyfriend at his 30th birthday because apparently that’s what you do when you can’t shake a crush on nick motherfucking grimshaw, you take every chance you get to be near him.

he heads for the back garden, finding it surprisingly empty. it makes it easier to take the whole bench, tossing his legs up onto it and stretching out. it’s cool for mid-august but it’s quiet, and rj closes his eyes, taking a moment to breathe before having another mouthful of beer.

his eyes are still closed when he hears footsteps approach him, the tell-tale scuff of boot toes off the patio that is nick grimshaw’s walk. “y’alright?” he asks, his voice closer than rj was expecting. he opens his eyes and- yes. there he is. face hovering just above rj’s. he quells the reaction to jump, as that would only bring his face crashing into nick’s and. that is a bit of a dick move to pull on nick’s birthday. even accidentally.

he gives him a nod. “yeah, yeah. fine. just-“

"yeah," nick agrees as he lowers himself down. his knees click on the way and rj smiles to himself, satisfactorily thinking old man. “i got worried when you disappeared,” he tells him, quiet, just enough above a whisper for rj to hear it. and then. nick kisses his forehead. mouth lingering longer than a second on rj’s skin.

_fuck._

it takes everything within rj to not lean in and kiss him properly.

he pulls back, rising back up to full height once more, and says, “come back in when you’re ready, yeah? wouldn’t want you to miss out of a slice of cake.” he asks, a smirk on his face, “or do models eat cake?”

rj flips him off as he leaves. he wonders if it would be considered impolite to climb over nick’s garden wall and head home.


	9. telepathy [harry styles]

"how-" gemma begins, but zayn beats her to it and asks, "how much have you heard? from my head. since i’ve known you."

gemma’s face suggests she wasn’t going to ask that at all.

with a laugh, harry rubs his hand through the curls at the back of his head, twisting them around his fingers to make them bounce. he replies, “i’ve heard. yeah. enough.” zayn looks like he can’t decide whether to be amazed or terrified — it settles somewhere in the middle, which just makes him look a bit confused. he is confused. harry can hear all the overlapping questions going round and around in his head.

chaotic.

the way it always is around the boys. every one of them has such loud thoughts, pushing their way into harry’s skull at the worst times. making him roll his eyes, groan, try and cover his face with a pillow because maybe suffocating himself will stop him from hearing what everyone else is thinking. but gemma-

gemma is quiet. her head doesn’t- wait. harry can’t hear her at all.

_interesting._


	10. curtain fic/domestic fic [bruce pearson & snork]

snork puts the cucumber down, quickly deciding on another and putting it in the trolley while bruce is laughing and shaking his head, face angled towards his shoes. he looks odd behind a shopping trolley, with its two loaves of bread and a carton of orange juice. snork asks, “it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

he wishes he didn’t care, wishes he could play things off the same way as bruce. cool, collected until the right moment. but snork has a tendency to get a little worked up about things, playing them back over and over in his head until he’s made them into much bigger things and he’s now worried everyone else on the planet is judging him. he waits for bruce to answer.

bruce shakes his head.

"nah, mate. it’s fine."

snork returns, “i smacked a woman in the face with a cucumber.” it feels positively not fine.

with a sigh, bruce replies, “on accident. and you apologised straight away.”

"you laughed."

"was amusing, wasn’t it?" bruce immediately softens when snork’s frown deepen. "ah, c’mon. i’m allowed laugh at things like that — i’m your mate. but if anyone else laughed, i’d sort them straight out for you, yeah?" snork gives him a smile, bruce quickly beaming back at him, all crooked teeth and the dimple he denies he has. "right. what cereal you fancy then?" and he wheels the trolley into the next aisle.


	11. groundhog day [nick grimshaw]

"i swear," nick repeats, "this day has happened before." finchy continues to eye him, but his frown is starting to let up. a bit. "you have to believe me; why would i make this up?"

finchy sighs. “i don’t know. because you’re you.”

groaning and shaking his head, nick goes, “i’m not making this up. i’ve lived this day already — i get up, come to work, interview haim and then you invite me to lunch with aimee and ian. you haven’t done that yet but the text on your phone is from ian. _he_ will be in at precisely 7:28 and you’ll complain cos he said he’d be here be 7:15 and now your coffee is 13 minutes colder.” finchy blinks at him. a few too many times. “now do you believe me?”

"how do i know you haven’t planned this all with ian?"

nick really wants to shake him. “because. that is way too much planning for possibly the _worst_ practical joke in history. ever.”


	12. time travel [harry styles/zayn malik]

there are rules. there are so many fucking rules about time travel and each one is important. so important nick explained them all to harry four times before letting him do anything. rule #1 is ‘do not change events in the past; you do not know how they will affect the future’. rule #14 says ‘do not speak to anyone you in past or future; you must remain anonymous’ but rule #15 says ‘if you must speak to them, do not tell them anything about their future OR ask them about your future’.

harry is about to break all three of them. but he has to. he _needs_ to.

2010 zayn is younger than he remembers.

wow.

he’s not sure if he can do this any more. he can’t tell this kid- fuck. exhaling slowly, he steps towards him. “hey, kid. can i talk to you for a sec?”

zayn blinks at him. he doesn’t know harry yet. especially not this harry. but, with only a slight note of hesitation in his voice, he says, “sure.”


	13. curtain fic/domestic fic [nick grimshaw/rj king]

sticking his head around the shower curtain, water dripping down the angle of his jaw and off the ends of his eyelashes, rj informs nick, “i want eggs.” it isn’t a request. and he disappears back behind nick’s shower curtain as quickly as he came out.

"what kind?" he replies, hoping rj can’t really hear him over the spray of the water. he can make scrambled and fried with a runny yolk. but he’s not sure if rj’s a fan of either of those. or a runny yolk at all. there’s probably a tutorial on youtube somewhere on how to properly hard boil an egg but nick’s not trying to poach anything just yet.

clearly rj hasn’t heard him (or is choosing to ignore him but nick’s gonna give him the benefit of the doubt) because he hasn’t answered and it’s been a good 15 seconds since he asked the question.

 _well then_ , nick grins. scrambled it is.


	14. accidental baby acquisition [greg james]

he seems to like louis. then again, it is louis. most things like louis. greg wraps both his hands around the polka dot mug of tea and breathes in the smell of it, enjoying the moment of quiet. theo only seems to scream around him which. isn’t great.

settling the baby on his hip, louis asks, “so, whose is he then?” theo gurgles at him, twisting his fat fingers in the front of louis’ sweater. it earns him louis’ attention, his face breaking into a smile as he leans in and lets their noses touch. theo giggles like it is the greatest thing on the planet. “yeah,” louis agrees, lengthening out the vowel sound.

greg swallows his mouthful of tea before answering, “he’s mine.” louis stares at him, wide eyed. waiting. “a girl, last summer. i had no idea.”

"how’d you end up with him?" it sounds like an accusation. maybe it is. "if you didn’t know before."

he sighs. “found him on my doorstep this morning. apparently she’s gone off to the isle of wight with her latest boyfriend and didn’t want to bring him.” greg pauses, taking another sip of tea. “a real, fairytale beginning.” a third sip and he’s finished with the mug. “so, i phoned gemma this morning and she said i could come over and take some of the twins’ stuff, borrow it til i sort myself out.”

louis visibly softens at that, has always held such a soft spot for gemma and the girls. “yeah,” he agrees. “she’s good like that.”

theo blubbers out some bubbles with his tongue in agreement.


	15. snowed-in/huddling for warmth [stannis/davos]

starvation is. everything dying slowly, little by little. from the inside out. then, the hallucinations start — little ones at first, like imagining the smell of food cooking when there is none, but they slowly get bigger. like right now. the smuggler returned, coming up the back stairs with onions.

stannis attempts to laugh but barely manages a groan.

"mi’lord," he says, dropping down onto his knees next to his chair. he smells like the sea, the salt of it embedded in his cloak and his hair, all the same. he tries it again, "mi’lord."  
stannis just breathes out.

davos pulls him to him. it isn’t comely or proper but stannis has no fight in him to stop it. he ends up wedged against him, half off the chair and half cradled in the crook of davos’ arm. he shivers. “i’m not going to feed you,” davos insists, handing over an onion. “i’m just here to make sure you don’t choke.”

this time stannis’ laugh sounds more like a laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting the smallest amount to convey a smile. he takes a bite from the onion, salt and sweet filling his mouth.

davos holds him until he’s finished eating.


	16. secretly a virgin [mads mikkelsen/louis tomlinson]

mads’ mouth stops, a tiny bubble of spit keeping his lip connected to louis as he asks, “what was that?” underneath him, louis shakes his head, burying his face in the pillows.

fingers tripping over louis’ flank, up up up over his ribs until he reaches his chest, mads repeats, “no, no. tell me what you said.” but louis doesn’t budge. mads shifts on his knees, palms pressed in against louis’ chest — his heart beats rapidly under his ribcage — he lifts them both up. louis comes away from the pillows groaning.

lips pressed to his ear, mads asks, “what did you say?”

louis shivers as mads’ breath ghosts over his throat; it does little to relax him. his swallow makes his throat bob, the sound thick and wet in the otherwise quiet of the room. he begins, “i said-” but stops, inhaling sharply.

mads stays quiet behind him, solid chest pressed to louis’ smaller shoulders.

"i said i’ve never done this before."

the ‘oh’ mads breathes out travels over the sensitive skin behind louis’ ear, making him shudder again.


	17. be careful what you wish for [mads mikkelsen/louis tomlinson]

he knows there’s someone else. he isn’t stupid. this is mads. mads has a wife and he’s fucking louis — mads has louis and there’s no doubt in louis’ mind he’s fucking someone else. louis just needs to know. then he can move on from it.

googling mads doesn’t help. it brings up some cute photos of his family but those aren’t what louis is looking for.

asking people seems rude. and if it was as simple as asking gemma or luke, then why not ask mads himself?

no. louis just has to wait this out. wait for a tell or something, for mads to slip up and reveal it himself. she — louis is positive it’s a woman, can’t put his finger on why but just. feels it, in his gut — will eventually turn up at something, a premiere or at a dinner in cannes. and louis will know.

_easy._

so, when he looks across the table and sees mads’ hand on gemma’s shoulder he realises. that’s what he’s been looking for. because mads has held louis like that, a possessive move where his thumb strokes along the first notch of louis’ spine at the nape of his neck. and gemma is looking at mads like. he hung the moon in the sky. such stupidly open adoration and.

fuck.

there’s quite a high chance louis is going to throw up. maybe he can hide it, cover his mouth with his hand and get most of it down his sleeve.

jesus. he needs to leave.


	18. sharing a bed [mads mikkelsen/louis tomlinson]

louis needs to stop being such a brat and go to bed. to lie the fuck down and go to fucking sleep. mads is this close to saying, “go the fuck to sleep, tomlinson,” and leaving him. but he can’t. not when louis is so drunk he’s beligerent and fighting mads on everything.

when louis’ fist collides with mads’ cheek — it’s an accident, he knows that, but _still_ — mads has louis’ two wrists between his hand in an instant, pulling away with a stern, “i am trying to help you.”

louis hiccups and tells him, “i don’t need your help.”

like he believes it.

"fine," and mads lets go. he lets go of louis and gets off the bed, already a step closer to the door than a second before. he brushes his jacket, fixing his tie and takes another step. with his back to louis, he states, "i’ll call you in the morning."

behind him, there’s a sniffle sound. followed by the wet noise of louis wiping his nose with his shirt cuff. “don’t.”

mads doesn’t turn. he waits. waits for-

"stay. please."


End file.
